


Visitor

by melody1987



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, mostly porn tbh, teeny weeny bit of plot at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 12:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16872732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melody1987/pseuds/melody1987
Summary: This’ll be familiar to some. I originally posted this a few weeks back but deleted it because reasons. But it’s back now to stay





	Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> This’ll be familiar to some. I originally posted this a few weeks back but deleted it because reasons. But it’s back now to stay

It’s pushing two am when Joker arrives at his door.

John isn’t surprised to see him - a visit from the clown is almost a guarantee if John’s in or around Gotham these days - but he had expected the knock to come a bit earlier. Not that John minds, night terrors have made it clear he isn’t getting any sleep tonight, but if he’d known for sure he was having company he would’ve kept himself a bit more presentable. Worn nicer underwear, at least. As it is, Joker will have to make do with him in an open blood stained shirt and a pair of boxers that have seen better days.

But one look at Joker and John can see his own appearance won’t be much of a problem.

Joker isn’t covered in blood or bruises this time (not as rare an occurrence as it should be) but he’s still a far cry from his usually immaculate self. His suit is rumpled, like he’s dressed in a hurry, and his hair can’t seem to decide in which direction it wants to defy gravity. There are heavy shadows circling his eyes that hastily applied makeup hasn’t been able to conceal and the eyes themselves are feverishly bright in a way that can’t mean anything good.

Joker doesn’t wait for an invite to step inside and, without a word, walks right over to the bottle of whiskey on the drawers beside the bed and downs almost half of what’s left.

Well, this is going to be interesting, John thinks and braces himself for the explosion. There’s going to be one, Joker’s wound tighter than a coiled spring, but there’s no telling what form the explosion will take. The two of them have never had a proper fight, they don’t spend nearly enough time around one another for that, and John was sure to make it very clear early on where he drew the line on bullshit clownery and what’d happen if Joker tried to step over it. But they’ve come close, Joker giving that line a nudge because he’s an incorrigible asshole and John was more than happy to demonstrate how much of an asshole he could be in return.

If possible, John would rather avoid another night like that. He’s had a hell of a day already.

As Joker gulps down the whiskey, John lights up a cigarette (yes, he’s gonna smoke it indoors because there’s no way he’s leaving Joker alone in his room like this and it’s too fucking cold outside anyway) and wonders if Joker will share whatever’s on his mind or just use John as a means of distraction. John doesn’t mind either way, so long as the distraction is _good_ , but wishes he’d brought more booze.

Having apparently gotten his fill, Joker finally lowers the bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he gives John a once over.

“What happened to you?” he asks, nodding to the stains on the shirt.

Smoke billows from John’s mouth as he breathes out. “The usual. You?”

There’s an almost imperceptible twitch of Joker’s jaw and he turns to put the whiskey back in its place on the bedside drawers. John waits quietly as Joker’s fingers softly tap the bottle neck before walking over to John and plucking the cigarette from his fingers.

“Not _quite_ the usual,” he replies, taking a long drag and closing his eyes as he inhales, before slowly blowing the smoke into John’s face.

When John opens his eyes, he’s met with acid green and there’s something swimming in those eyes, something that’s about to slip off Joker’s tongue and explain what he just meant, but before it can Joker takes John’s face in his hands and smashes their lips together.

The _good_ kind of distraction, then. John can work with that.

Taking back the cigarette and holding it away, his free hand tangles in Joker’s hair to press their mouths tighter together, letting him kiss back just as hard, just as desperate, although it’s difficult keeping up with Joker’s pace. He’s frantic, kissing with a hunger that makes John’s lips burn, hands running through and pulling hair, nails dragging down John’s neck and when he starts yanking John’s shirt off his shoulders, John decides it's time to get rid of the cigarette. Wouldn’t do to burn the motel room down in a fit of passion, would it?

“Hang on,” John says, managing to pull his mouth away to look for the ashtray. It’s by the whiskey bottle and he manoeuvres the pair of them towards it as Joker kisses and bites his way along John’s jaw to his ear, freeing one of John’s arms from the shirt and impatient for the other to follow.

John can’t help laughing softly, it’s always nice to be wanted, and, with both hands now free, he treats Joker to a little of the same treatment, gripping the silk shirt in both hands to rip it open. He resumes the kiss, biting Joker’s lower lip hard enough to pull out a moan, pushing both the shirt and jacket off Joker’s body in one and edging him towards the bed until the backs of Joker’s knees knock against it.

John pushes him back and, as he falls, Joker grips the waistband of John’s boxers to make him follow. John slots between Joker’s legs as their mouths and hips meet, kissing and grinding into the mattress, both of them able to feel how hard the other is as their bodies find their rhythm.

With the sounds Joker’s making, breathless, needy little whines and moans, John wonders if he might be able to make him come from this alone. It certainly seems like Joker wants to, legs spread wide and hands gripping John’s ass tight to make their hips grind even harder, arching into every touch, every kiss, shuddering as teeth graze his neck. He’s desperate for the release, John can feel it and he’s about to open Joker’s trousers to get him there when the room suddenly spins, John flipped onto his back so that Joker can straddle his waist. John’s heart is already racing but the way Joker looks at him makes it kick up a notch, the feverishness in his eyes now fuelled by a different sort of fire, one that John is ready to be consumed by.

Except the fire doesn’t reach him. Joker doesn’t move. He just sits there with his hands resting on John’s chest, his own chest moving quickly, almost like he’s hyperventilating. His gaze flits erratically over John, his fingers curling and flexing as if he can’t decide what to do next. John knows what _he_ wants Joker to do and his hands move up from Joker’s hips, ready to pull him down into another kiss, but Joker shakes his head and presses his hands to his forehead, rubbing his temples before dragging them through his hair.

He stays that way for at least a couple of minutes, fingers scratching backwards and forwards and John can once again feel whatever it is that brought Joker here struggling to claw its way out. Something is very wrong and it sends a thrill of fear up John’s spine. Something would have to be very bad to scare the Joker.

Joker straightens up and tilts his head back with a heavy sigh and John decides enough is enough. Whatever’s wrong, it’s time to spill.

“Alright,” he says, using his elbow to sit himself up, wrapping an arm around Joker’s waist to keep him in place in his lap. “Out with it. What’s going on?”

He takes Joker’s face carefully in his hands to tilt it down to face him.

Joker doesn’t answer right away, closing his eyes and turning his face to breathe into John’s palm. When his eyes open, they’re still unnaturally bright but also more tired than John has ever seen them.

Joker’s voice is quiet when he says, “I think I need your help, Johnny boy.”

That doesn’t bode well - for either of them. Strangers usually don’t look to someone like John for help unless they’re edging past the point of desperation, and those who _do_ know him tend to only come when they’re well and truly fucked.

But if Joker needs his help, John will give it. It’s what he does, after all.

“What do you need?”

Joker shakes his head and mirrors the grip John has on his face, thumbs pressing against John’s lips.

“Right now, I need _this_.”

Joker makes it very clear what he means with a roll of his hips and John’s eyelids flutter closed as he moans. Both of them are still hard and John doesn’t have it in him to refuse. Talk can wait.

They kiss again and, this time, it’s slower, more controlled. Joker’s admission, while brief, seems to have been enough to rein in some of the frenzy, but there’s still more than enough fire to leave them panting into one another’s mouths as hands roam and tongues meet and teeth bite and tease. Joker’s lips are hot against John’s shoulder as John pulls down Joker’s zip and it’s not as much of a surprise as it should be to see that, even in a hurry, Joker managed to put on lace panties for the occasion. Unfortunately the trousers are too well fitting for John to get at them as they are so he slides both hands down to Joker’s ass and, after a playful smack, throws Joker onto his back again.

The giggles he gets in response tell him Joker’s well on his way back to his usual self and it takes time through the kissing and groping but eventually the last of their clothes are gone, leaving nothing but skin on skin as John grinds their bodies together again.

Joker bites his lip and hums as his legs wrap around John’s waist, hips lifting to ask for more friction. John gives it, hooking his arms underneath Joker to grip onto his shoulders, biting and sucking his neck as nails cut into his back. Joker isn’t the only one who could come like this, heat swirling deep in John’s gut and rising steadily but it’s been a while since they last saw each other, with no idea when they’ll see each other next and he’d rather go away with something more memorable than a dirty fondle.

John pushes himself up onto his knees, only for Joker to follow, arms and legs locking around John  to pull him into more kisses.

As their tongues curl around one another, John mumbles a word into Joker’s mouth and a small bottle of lube transfers from John’s bag into his hand. He feels Joker’s grin against his lips.

“Neat trick,” Joker murmurs into the kiss. “Need to teach me that.”

There isn’t a deity in existence that could convince John to let that happen. Joker has more than enough dangerous tricks up those purple sleeves of his, he doesn’t need magic adding to them. So John’s response is to nibble Joker’s lower lip as he opens the bottle cap before wrapping his slick fingers around Joker’s cock.

There’s a sigh and then a moan and Joker moves his legs so that he can start rocking his hips in time with the strokes of John’s hand. John chases his mouth, swallowing sounds that grow hungrier with every thrust, hand splayed over Joker’s back to feel the way the muscles move underneath his skin. The kisses soon have to stop as Joker starts panting, the fingers in John’s hair pulling tight, warning that he’s close and it takes everything John has to stop himself just before Joker can come.

“You...you asshole,” Joker breathes as John pulls his hand away.

With a grin, John moves his fingers down to tease Joker’s hole, silencing any further complaints. Joker lifts himself up a little to let John slide the first finger in, soon followed by a second and then a third, slowly working Joker open. The grip in John’s hair is starting to hurt but he isn’t about to stop, not with the noises Joker is making or the way he’s fucking his fingers. He keeps moving them in and out, brushing Joker’s prostate and enjoying the way Joker’s breath catches every time he does.

John doesn’t let him come this time, either, willing to bear the heat of Joker’s glare - which, holy shit, is a good one - as he pulls his fingers out. He walks to his bag this time to grab a condom, needing to stretch his legs (not the spring chicken he used to be) and feels the weight of Joker’s impatient gaze on him the entire way. He returns to the bed where Joker sits and watches as the condom goes on, before Joker’s fingers close tight around his cock. Lifting himself up on his knees to bring them to eye level, Joker moves his lips to John’s ear, digging his nails into John’s stomach as he whispers,

“If I don’t get an orgasm this time, I’m tearing this off.”

John doesn’t doubt for a second that he means it.

Joker strokes him as they lie back down on the bed and John slides his hands along each leg to Joker’s hips as he’s lined up. Joker arches his body as John pushes inside and the heat and the relief make John moan into Joker’s chest. And Joker may not have thanked him for the tease but it does mean that it only takes minutes for Joker to unravel, gasping and panting and moaning John’s name, crying out when John gets him in just the right spot.

There’s something to be said for fucking someone so vocal and through the curses and whines John hears a request for more. He takes Joker’s leg and hooks it over his shoulder and snaps his hips forward as hard as he can and Joker makes a sound to say that this is exactly what he’s been waiting for. John closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of moving in and out of Joker’s body, of Joker’s hips meeting his, Joker getting louder as John wraps his hand around his cock again to pump in time with his hips.

This time, John lets him come, feeling Joker’s back lift off the bed as he screams into the pillow, his own orgasm just a few thrusts away. His head meets Joker’s shoulder as a rush of heat and pleasure courses through his body and Joker kisses him through it, hot and messy. How the fuck he managed it with his leg in this position, John doesn’t know and, frankly, doesn’t care. His heart’s pounding and his body’s shuddering with the aftershocks and Joker’s mouth won’t let him go, and John is kissing and kissing and kissing back until his lungs burn.

Pulling out, John rolls heavily onto his back, feeling utterly spent. It’s not until fingertips ghost across his cheek that he realises his eyes have drifted shut. He turns his head to face Joker and offers a small, lazy grin.

“Feeling better, squire?”

The smile John gets in return is all the confirmation he needs.

-

Later, the pair of them are still on the bed, but John is sat up cross legged near the foot of it, a large book open in front of him. He feels Joker’s nail trace along the tattoos on his back, a sensation that’s in no way unpleasant.

“So you couldn’t see it, ” John says, flicking through a few pages. “And all it said was your name?”

“Mmhmm.”

John looks over his shoulder at Joker. “I thought you didn’t know your real name. Or anything from, y’know, _before_.”

Joker doesn’t look at John, just continues tracing the tattoos as he replies.

“I don’t. I’ve never heard the name and don’t remember a single one of the things it showed me, but they felt real, and I feel like I _should_ know them.”

Silence falls and the tension returns to Joker’s face. After what he’s just heard, John feels that tension, too. No wonder Joker had looked so shaken when he arrived.

Turning back to the book, John asks, “What was the name?”

Joker’s nail stills and the room seems to do the same.

“Do you need to know?”

John considers for a moment. He’s tempted to lie and say yes just to sate his curiosity but it’s clear that, for whatever reason, Joker doesn’t want to say and John doesn’t want to force it out of him unnecessarily. Joker’s past is his own to do with as he will.

“No,” he says and closes the book.

Climbing off the bed, John drops the book back into his bag before grabbing the discarded cigarette and lighting it up. Joker stretches out and rolls onto his stomach, watching John with those vivid green eyes.

It’s not a bad view and John doesn’t hide his appreciation of it. On paper Joker’s hideous, a pasty, gangly, bizarre looking thing, but in person he somehow makes it work, although it seems to be down to attitude more than anything. Sometimes it feels like he’s daring you to want him despite yourself, although that wasn’t quite necessary in John’s case. All it took was a couple of beers and some lewd whispers in his ear and he was Joker’s for the night. And quite a few nights since.

As John lies down beside him, Joker arches an eyebrow. “So?”

“So what?”

“What’re we doing about my visitor?”

John takes a long drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke billow and dance in the air above him.

“Nothing yet. I need sleep and a good breakfast before I start on something like this.”

Another drag and John turns his face to Joker, blowing the smoke into his face as revenge for earlier. Joker swats the smoke away and slides in closer, chin and arm resting on John’s chest.

“But don’t you worry, as soon as I know what we’re dealing with, I’ll know how to send it on it’s not so merry way.”

He gets a soft hum from Joker in response and nothing more and John feels apprehension steadily grow in his gut. Hauntings can be fairly standard affairs when they happen to standard people, but with Joker there’s no telling where it could lead. John’s gonna have to start working on a few protection spells.

Joker sighs, his breathing growing heavy, signalling his descent into sleep and John reaches for the ashtray to stub out his cigarette before switching off the lamp light. He pushes the apprehension down. There’s no point fretting about it now, it might turn out to be nothing.

_Yeah, right,_ says a pesky little voice in John’s head, which he tells to fuck off as he closes his eyes.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
